Читать книгу Innocent In The Billionaire's Bed - Clare Connelly - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

SHE WAS IN AGONY.

Being tortured alive with every bump.

The bike was old, yet powerful, and the man drove it with expert ease. Still, there wasn’t a road so much as a track, and she had to keep her arms wrapped tight around his waist, her legs squeezed against his. She could feel his heart racing beneath her hands, smell his intoxicating masculinity, and her stomach was in knots.

Every hitch in the road brought her womanhood closer to him, bouncing her on the seat. Needs long ago suppressed were being pushed to the front of her mind. Heat flamed through her and it had nothing to do with the morning sun that was beating down on her back.

Tilly had never been into cars or bikes. She liked nice, smart, kind men. Men who had blond hair and white teeth and clear blue eyes. Who called her mum ‘ma’am’ and liked to watch the football with her dad and Jack.

Nice guys.

There was nothing ‘nice’ about Rio Mastrangelo, but her body was sparking with a desire she’d never felt before.

She angled her head, focussing on the view of the island as the bike climbed higher, around the track, but it was no use. Her eyes saw the glistening ocean, and the spectacular greenery between them and it, but in her mind she was imagining making love to Rio on top of this very bike. Straddling him and taking him against the leather seat.

She was ashamed of herself!

Then again, she’d woken up in a state of confusion and arousal because she’d dreamed about him. Dreams that had made her body sensitive. And that sensitivity was not being helped now, by the bumping of the bike along the road. Nor by the feeling of his powerful legs moving inside hers. The broadness of his chest and the rise and fall of his back.

She was in trouble.

Cressida might have no trouble getting into bed with strangers, but Tilly didn’t do the whole casual sex thing. She wasn’t a prude, but she’d never really wanted any guy enough to ignore common sense. She wanted the fairy tale. She wanted to meet a man who swept her off her feet and offered love and happily-ever-after.

Rio would never be that.

What he would be was a sensational lover.

She groaned under her breath at the very idea. Her hands, curved around his chest, wanted to drop lower. To find the hem of his shirt and push it up so that her fingertips could connect with bare flesh.

This was a nightmare.

No way could she act on these feelings! Apart from anything, she’d feel as if she was letting herself down. Where could this go? She was lying to him—pretending to be someone she wasn’t. A secret she absolutely had to keep!

It wasn’t just the money Cressida had paid, though that was a huge part of it. Cressida had begged her to play along, and not for the first time in Tilly’s life she’d felt sorry for the glamorous heiress.

‘I have a wedding to go to. Mum and Dad would never approve. It’s really important, Tilly, or I wouldn’t have asked.’

Matilda suspected that Art and Gloria would indeed have disapproved, but that wouldn’t have stopped Cressida from going. It just would have led to yet another loud shouting match, resulting in Cressida storming out and Art fretting for days over how he could handle his wayward daughter more effectively.

Having worked for Art for four years, Tilly had seen enough of those confrontations to know they were best avoided. Art wasn’t in great health, and every time he lost his temper with Cressida, Tilly worried.

No, she’d saved everyone a whole heap of trouble by coming to Prim’amore in Cressida’s place. After all, it was only a week. Cressida would attend the wedding, Tilly would stay on the island, and then they’d get back to their normal lives with no one ever knowing they’d performed a switcheroo.

She ignored the niggle of disquiet over that—and the inevitable conclusion that after this week she would never see Rio Mastrangelo again.

He turned the bike around a corner, leaning into it, and she leaned with him, holding on tight as the bike seemed to dip close to the grass on one side. He straightened, but she kept on holding him tight. Finally he brought the bike to a stop, pressing one powerful leg down to kick the stand.

‘This is where the path stops.’ His words were accented.

Belatedly, Tilly realised she was still gripping his waist and that there was no reason to do so. She jerked her arms away and fumbled her way off the back of the bike, scratching her calf in the process.

He had no such difficulty. He lifted himself off as though he’d been riding bikes all his life.

‘You’re a natural at that,’ she said, the words thick.

He lifted his helmet off and placed it on the seat, the turned to unclip hers. ‘It’s not rocket science.’

‘Still...’ She held her breath as his fingers brushed against the soft flesh under her chin.

He reached for the clasp and pressed it; the helmet loosened and she reached up to dislodge it at the same time he did. Their fingers tangled but he didn’t pull away, and nor did she. His eyes held hers for a beat longer than normal, and her stomach swooped up and then down.

She cleared her throat, pulling her hands away and smiling awkwardly. Yeah, great. Just what Cressida would have done, she thought with an inward groan of mortification.

He didn’t seem to realise. He pressed the helmet onto the seat and then reached back towards her.

His hand in her hair was like the start of her dream coming true. She watched, mesmerised, as he studied the red lengths, pulling his fingers through it, a slight frown on his face. Her breath hitched in her throat and anxiety began to perforate that strange mood.

Had he recognised who she was? Or rather who she wasn’t?

‘Do you dye this?’

She pulled a face, not comprehending why he’d ask such a question. ‘No!’

‘I didn’t think so.’ His frown deepened. ‘It’s like copper and gold.’

‘Yes.’ She nodded, stepping backwards and almost tripping on a rock that jutted out of the ground. His hand on her elbow steadied her, then dropped away again. ‘I hated it, growing up. I used to get teased mercilessly.’

‘I find that hard to believe.’

Strangely, it was something that Cressida and Tilly had in common. They’d discussed the dislike they’d felt as children, for having such unique colouring.

‘Yes, well—says you, who’s probably always looked like a mini-Greek god.’

The words were out before she could stop them.

‘I’m Italian,’ he pointed out, his grin doing strange things to her blood pressure. ‘And there is nothing miniature about me.’

‘You know what I mean.’ Her cheeks flushed bright red. She might as well have blurted out that she couldn’t stop thinking about how gorgeous he was.

He nodded, apparently taking pity on her because he didn’t pursue it. ‘I wouldn’t have teased you for your hair. Or anything.’

Her heart thumped. ‘Is this the volcano?’ She nodded at the jagged mountaintop that was still a little way above them.

He grinned, his eyes lifting to the peak. ‘Yeah. The track stops here.’

‘So we’ll walk?’

‘Sure.’ He lifted the seat of the bike and pulled out a black rucksack, hooking it over his shoulder. ‘Let’s go.’

She’d packed flip-flops and dresses, neither of which were especially suited to scaling a Mediterranean volcano. But she wasn’t going to complain.

‘The volcano would make an excellent tourist attraction. I know the previous owner of the island had plans drawn up to run a cable car across the top.’

‘That’s a great idea,’ she murmured.

The climb was steep and her breath was burning, despite the fact she was generally in good shape.

‘Just say if you require a break,’ he murmured.

Not bloody likely, she thought to herself, sending him a sidelong glance. ‘I’ll be—’

‘Fine,’ he responded. ‘The thing is, you usually say that before you fall over, so perhaps we should pause.’

‘That happened once,’ she said with a laugh, reaching across and pushing at his arm playfully.

He grinned back, but it was no longer playful. The atmosphere was electric.

She swallowed, forcing the conversation to something less incendiary. Something safe. ‘Was the previous owner looking at developing the island for tourists?’

Rio’s step slowed. ‘Si.’

‘I wonder why he didn’t,’ she murmured.

‘He died. Unexpectedly.’

‘Oh! What a shame. That’s awful.’

He stopped walking and turned to face her. ‘Look, Cressida.’

He nodded behind her and she spun.

An enormous smile broke across her face. ‘I’m on top of the world!’ she said, shaking her head.

The ocean spread like a big blue picnic blanket in every direction, but from this height she could make out ships in the distance, and another island dotted with bright homes.

‘Capri,’ he explained. ‘It is only twenty minutes away by boat.’

‘So close. And I thought we were all alone in the middle of the sea...’

She smiled up at him, but the look of speculation in his eyes stole her breath. There was no way this awareness was one-sided. He felt it too. Didn’t he?

She jerked her eyes back to the view, her mind spinning, her blood rushing.